


Heatwave

by clairelutra (exosolarmoon)



Category: Miraculous Ladybug
Genre: F/M, Unresolved Sexual Tension, really shamelessly excessive unresolved sexual tension, that's it that's the fic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-03-15
Updated: 2017-03-15
Packaged: 2018-10-05 16:11:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,100
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10312094
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/exosolarmoon/pseuds/clairelutra
Summary: (Even as disheveled as the heat had left him, Chat was, as always, kind of stupidly pretty.Notherkind of pretty, but, you know.Objectively,he was very pretty.)





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> "objectively" 
> 
> lololololololol

It was well past thirty degrees out before Ladybug and Chat Noir finally stopped for a break in their weekly patrol.

“So, can we get an akuma that, like, turns off the sun or something next?” Chat groaned where he was sprawled out on the shady, lukewarm concrete under the rooftop overhang they’d discovered together. “Just for a day. _One_ day.”

“But then we’d have to fight in the dark,” Ladybug mumbled back, trying not to whine as she leaned (melted) against the wall by his feet. “I _hate_ fighting in the dark.”

Her eyes felt dry when she blinked and her tongue felt cool when she licked her lips and it was really much too hot out to be doing anything that didn’t involve copious amounts of cold water, but she and Chat had a duty to the city, so patrol they would, regardless of the danger of heatstroke.

Chat sighed gustily and flopped a hand in her general direction. “Imagine I just said something really great about holding your hand. It’s too hot to think up lines.”

Ladybug laughed through her groan despite herself. “It’s too hot for holding hands, too.”

Chat rolled up into a position that could probably be called ‘sitting’ by the generous, head dangling over his knees as he dug his claws into his sweat-dampened hair and scrubbed vigorously. When he was done, his black-framed bottle-green eyes blinked up at her from beneath a veritable haystack, and Ladybug found herself swallowing, just a little.

(Even as disheveled as the heat had left him, Chat was, as always, kind of stupidly pretty.

Not _her_ kind of pretty, but, you know. _Objectively,_ he was very pretty.)

Thankfully, he chose to open his mouth before she could wander too far down that road. 

_“Never_ too hot for hand-holding,” was his protest as he slumped back, lounging as luxuriously as only a cat could. 

Despite his assurances, Ladybug’s palms felt sweaty at the mere thought. _More_ heat? No, thank you.

“…But it is _really hot,”_ he conceded after a moment, reaching up and tugging at his bell to reveal a strip of pale, gold-toned skin just below his throat.

Ladybug’s mouth went bone dry.

Chat groaned again as he stretched, one clawed hand sliding into the opening to peel his suit away from his skin, and Ladybug could only watch, hypnotized, as the sliver became a triangle of bare flesh. 

The triangle widened and deepened as she stared, revealing the line and dip of a collarbone, the firm swell of a pectoral, the faint sheen of sweat where the reflected light caught his skin — and then her eye caught on a bead of liquid that had escaped his hair just under his ear, helplessly tracking its progress as it rolled down the contours of his neck and merged with another drop at his clavicle.

Licking her lips, she wondered what it would feel like — _taste_ like — to lap those droplets off of his throat.

Salty, probably, his flesh hot against her tongue, the curve of his shoulder just right for sinking her teeth into—

“H-hey!” she stammered, bolting upright with her stomach in knots. “I’m… I’m gonna— I’m just. Really thirsty. Going to go get a bending machine — vending machine — from the lemonade, d-do you… aheh! Doyouwantanything?”

Suave, thy name is Ladybug.

Chat — the unintentional tease, the utter dork, and the thankfully oblivious partner that he was — just blinked at her, nonplussed, for a good three seconds. 

“…Sure, I’d love a vending machine from the lemonade.”

“Great!” Ladybug squeaked, looking everywhere but that tantalizing patch of bare skin, flustered and even _more_ overheated than she had been before. “That’s great! I’ll just… go. Go get us lemonades from the bending machines.“

Chat blinked again.

“Anyway, bye!” 

Ladybug fled.

* * *

 _The problem with being attracted to Chat_ , Ladybug mused as she carefully made her way back with two cold lemonades from a local convenience store, _was that that was all it was: attraction._

And, at the same time, attraction wasn’t the only thing it was at all.

She wasn’t in love with him, not by a long shot — the extent of her romantic interest was just a tiny little crush she’d long since given up getting over — but she _trusted_ him, and trusted him with everything she was. 

The combination of trust and attraction and lust ended up as some kind of perfect storm: she trusted him enough that the thought of intimacy with him held none of the fear she felt with everyone else, and wanted him enough to wonder, in the midst of all those other midnight speculations, _what does his laugh taste like_ and _how it would feel to sleep beside him_ and _how many kisses it would take to make him melt?_

(Would it take only one? Would he go with her, pliant and soft, as easy and laughing as everything with him had been?

Or would he make her work for it, playful and strong, throwing off her rhythm and keeping her on her toes with darting touches and smiling nips—)

She wasn’t in love with him, and she was still too hung up on Adrien to try anything with him in good conscience, but sometimes…

Sometimes…

She arrived back in their nook to find that Chat had somehow managed to strip off the top half of his suit entirely, black honeycomb pattern glimmering iridescent in the reflected light and the sheen of sweat on his skin no less tantalizing than before.

…Sometimes she considered it.

She twisted off the cap of one of the lemonades with shaking, clumsy fingers and put the cool plastic neck to her lips, partially to suppress the sudden, _intense_ desire to drop to her knees and taste the heat flush on his shoulders, but mostly because she’d never felt quite so _parched_ in her _life_.

 _God_ , and here she’d thought that comparing hot guys to cool glasses of water was just a bad romance novel trope.

She kept her teeth clamped tight around the screw top when Chat turned to her with a grateful, sunny smile and accepted his own bottle with his bare left hand, fighting off the phantom touch of his mouth with inanimate objects and sugary sustenance.

“You’re a _lifesaver,”_ he sighed, putting the bottle on his forehead and collapsing back on the concrete.

Ladybug took the bottle out of her mouth long enough to say, “I try,” and then realized that he’d shed his suit far enough to show off the golden bristles trailing from his navel down behind the bell and below his belt, and then shoved the bottle back in her mouth and stared at the skyline before she could think anything she’d _really_ regret.

Silence reigned — a blessed, torturous silence in which she could hear only her own heartbeat and the sound of Chat opening his own bottle, the pleased hum and the relieved sigh he let out as he drank, and Ladybug kept her mind out of the gutter with sheer force of will.

( _What would she need to do to make him sound like that again, though._ )

“So!” she said, in a desperate attempt to break the silence and save herself from Chat’s toplessness and her own mind. “It’s probably cooling off now! Or-or soon! We should probably get back to patrolling, h-huh?”

Or maybe it just felt cooler by comparison.

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Chat lower his head from taking another draft of the lemonade, and glanced over just in time to catch him wiping his mouth on the back of his hand, lemonade in his trapped hand.

It was then that Ladybug realized she’d made a very fatal mistake.

Chat’s amused, “Impatient much, Bugaboo?” fell on deaf ears as it fully hit her that she’d _bought them the same drink_.

Which meant that the substance sitting on her tongue right now was the very same substance now smeared around Chat’s lips.

Which meant she now knew half of what he’d taste like if she kissed him right now.

Oh _no._

She pulled the bottle away from her lips in a motion too steady to be completely her own and managed a smile. “Well, I mean, we aren’t r-really supposed to be taking breaks in the first place, so…”

Chat’s gaze fell to her mouth and stopped there. “…Right.”

Ladybug’s stomach flipped over.

“Right!” she echoed too-brightly, absently dropping her lips to the side of the bottle and lapping at the cool, clean condensation and doing her utmost not to imagine it as his skin. “So! We should be doing that. Pa-patrolling.” 

“…R-right,” Chat croaked, and then cleared his throat and repeated, only a little bit steadier, “Right! We… need to get back.”

…Was it just her, or was the tension between them suddenly thick enough to cut with a knife?

“A-anyway!” Ladybug stumbled back one step, and then two, pulling her yo-yo out of her belt with a jerk. “I’ll… I’ll just… get started!”

Above his stupidly pretty bare torso, Chat’s stupidly pretty face fell.

Another step back, _not_ forward, and Ladybug stammered, “E-e-enjoy the lemonade, it-it’s yours. I mean I paid for it, but—”

Oh god, she was stuttering even worse than when she tried to talk to Adrien! Why? Why her? _Why was this her life?!_

“Anyway yeah, it’s been fun! You’re-super-hot-I-gotta-go-bye!”

And with that, Ladybug flung herself off the side of the building, right into the Parisian summer heat, Chat blinking in her wake.

(She made it all of seven blocks of panicked flight before she had to stop and scream for a bit.

 _Had she really just called him ‘super hot’ to his face?!_ )


	2. Chapter 2

The heatwave hadn’t let up in the slightest by the time their next scheduled patrol rolled around.

“At this rate we might actually get an akuma that turns off the sun,” Ladybug groaned, unsticking her sweaty bangs from her flushed forehead as they walked down the street, newly obtained ice cream pops in hand.

Chat tore his eyes away from the oddly fascinating sight and contemplated his ice cream pop. “Do you think we could somehow get an ice cream akuma? That, like, flings ice cream at people? That would be _awesome.”_

(They hadn’t talked it out so much as they’d just sort of looked at each other and come to the mutual, unspoken agreement that it was much too hot to be jumping around Paris, and that they could patrol the local marketplace on foot instead. That the market place was clear of people because everyone sane was avoiding the heat also went unremarked.)

“That… sounds kinda icky,” said Ladybug, plastic crackling as she ripped the wrapper off her own treat. “And sticky. And slippery. And—”

“I _get_ it already,” Chat sighed, and bit off a corner of his chocolate-and-nut-covered bar. It was blessedly, _blessedly_ refreshing. Chewing the salty-bitter-sweet coating and swallowing, he added, “But it’d be _cold.”_

Ladybug sighed and stuck her ice cream in her own mouth. “I guess you have a point.”

“Ha.”

She elbowed his side. _“If_ you feel like showering it all off afterwards.”

“Maaan,” Chat grumbled in defeat. He could picture all too well just how many showers it would take to fully remove all that sugar-loaded cream. So much for that plan.

“Ha,” said Ladybug, shooting him a heart-tripping smirk, cherry-flushed lips against shark-white teeth and radioactive-blue eyes glinting in the heavy sunlight, and Chat looked away fast, face heating.

Four years of close friendship and the butterflies that materialized in his stomach when she smiled had only multiplied tenfold. Chat was starting to suspect he was a hopeless case.

“…But what about a shower akuma?” she posited, tucking a lock of escaped hair behind her ear as Chat tugged his zipper down a few inches, feeling the heat much more acutely than he had only minutes prior. “A cold shower akuma, who really wants everyone to… to… cool down…”

“That sounds like a hero to me,” Chat said, glancing over in worry as she trailed off. 

Her eyes were fixed on the hollow of his throat, face slack and ice cream dripping, forgotten, in her off hand.

After about three seconds of her unwavering attention, Chat cleared his throat awkwardly, stomach churning. “…Your ice cream is melting.”

Ladybug jumped like she hadn’t even _noticed it_. “R-right! Thanks.”

…Chat might need that akuma right about now.

“Soooo…” he drawled after a second, once he’d gotten his breath back. He tapped his chin and grinned like hope _wasn’t_ making a mess of his insides.  “Don’t tell me I’m _distracting_ you, Bugaboo.” 

“…Psh, as if,” Ladybug said, after a dizzying second of hesitation, bringing her melting ice cream up to her mouth and, well…

Licking it.

Because that’s what people did with ice cream: they licked it.

Chat still half tripped over his own two feet watching her lithe, pink tongue flatten against the side of the stick, catching fat drops of cream and leaving a slick, shiny trail in its wake, eyes heavy-lidded and dark as sapphires.

“N-no need to be shy, m’lady,” he managed through his dry, dry mouth. He swallowed hard and then flexed his free arm with a smirk. “We’re all jealous of this cat sometimes.”

Her eyes dropped to his guns, and then flicked up to his face, a teasing grin playing around her lips before she occupied them with the tip of her popsicle. “Uh- _huh.”_

Chat… 

Chat was pretty sure his ears had just popped with how fast his blood pressure changed.

Somehow, he hadn’t noticed quite how… _suggestively shaped_ the object was until it was melting in her mouth, leaving milky traces on her tongue and not _quite_ stretching her plush lips.

He tore his eyes before he could actively imagine her mouth wrapped around anything _else_. His situation was… _difficult_ enough as it was, thanks.

“Yup,” he squeaked, voice cracking embarrassingly. “Ab-absolutely.”

He tugged the corner of his collar away from his overheating skin. _God_ , had it always been this _stuffy_ out here?

Ladybug sighed and _blessedly_ (yet disappointingly) removed the ice cream from her mouth. “Well, maybe a little bit jealous — of your zipper.”

“My zipper?” he echoed, confused, and she folded her free arm under her chest with a little huff.

Chat’s gaze got stuck to where her breast tucked itself neatly into the crook of her arm, the way the supple flesh dimpled around her bicep, the way he could almost see the peak of it despite the heat, hopelessly distracted by how _soft_ she looked, and he swallowed _hard_.

“You think this suit is any cooler than yours?” she asked drolly, pink tongue flicking out to catch another drip of melted ice cream. She plucked at the material where said suit stretched between her breasts. _“You_ can unzip a little. I just have to suffer.”

Chat walked right into a streetlamp.

_“Ack!”_

A strong, delicate hand grabbed him by the scruff and peeled him away from the hot metal, Ladybug’s worried face flashing in the corner of his physical vision and the flushed slip of a pale throat branded, indelible, all over his mind’s eye.

“Are you okay?!”

No. No, he _really_ wasn’t.

“Fffff,” he heard somewhere outside the pounding in his ears, the giggle _just_ affectionate and tender enough to make every one of his problems at least twenty percent worse. “Watch where you’re going, you _dork.”_

“Wh-why would I do that when I c-could watch you?” Chat wheezed, vision swimming and nose stinging. 

He should probably be worrying about heatstroke right about now, shouldn’t he.

Ladybug refused to dignify that with a response, only sighing slightly as she set him back on his feet. Then she stuck the stick back in her mouth, and Chat narrowly avoided walking into the streetlamp again.

Shit shit shit shit shit _shit—_

He kept his eyes fixed on the ground, like the dirty cobblestone might keep the vision of Ladybug’s suit slipping off her shoulders at bay.

It did not.

Instead, he found his gaze almost magnetized back to her, two fingers hooked under his own collar as he tried, futilely, to get just a little bit more _air_.

Despite her dismissal, Chat didn’t think he was imagining the self-conscious hunch to her shoulders, or the way her eyes half-shyly flicked to him and then away — he probably imagined her flush darkening, though. Who knew, with this heat.

And then she pulled the stick out of her mouth again, and, with the smallest of hesitations and a motion just this side of too deliberate, swirled her tongue around the tip.

Oh god.

The picture she was painting for him was so vivid he could _feel it_ — the hot swipe of her tongue and warm wet heat of her mouth right on his—

Oh _fuck_ oh god oh sh—

Someone whimpered.

It was probably him.

Ladybug, innocent as you please, cocked her head and blinked at him. “Everything okay?”

_No!!_

“Fffffine,” Chat croaked, about as fine as one _could_ be when one was in possession of a working penis while watching their crush perform _fellatio_ on _ice cream_.

Ladybug quirked a dubious eyebrow. The stick went into her mouth again, plush lips closing sweetly around the shaft and catching the drips as she drew it back out again, the sides left glossy in the sun.

Chat was very much Not Fine.

Ladybug glanced at her treat and made an annoyed little noise as she spied drips that had escaped her sweep. 

Chat realized what she was about to do only moments before she did it, too numb to say or do a single thing to stop her — she tilted her head and, in her attempt to catch those stray drips, shoved half the thing right down her throat.

Chat’s ears rang, the noise echoing around his empty skull.

There was no god, of this he was certain. His best friend was _sex demon_ who was actively trying to _kill him_ , and there was _no way_ —

She choked.

 _Oh_ , thought Chat weakly, doubling over in a coughing fit as all that pressure building in his chest finally pushed past capacity. _There is a god after all._

“Oh shut up,” she grumbled, voice hypnotically raw as she wiped her mouth free of the creamy mess.

“About what?” Chat wheezed, hand over his erratically pounding heart. _Oh god oh **god**_ — _“Everyone_ has a gag reflex.“

Ladybug’s eyes flashed like he’s issued her a challenge, and Chat realized that he’d made a mistake only a split second too late.

“That’s not true,” she snapped, and then went red — _redder_. “It. It’s about angle — here, see?”

And then she tilted her head just so, and pushed the whole thing pointedly down her throat.

Chat _did_ see.

Chat was pretty sure he would never, ever _unsee_.

Chat was pretty sure he was going to remember Ladybug proving to him that she could deepthroat a popsicle roughly the same size as his dick for _the rest of his life_.

She opened her eyes, having let them slip shut as she worked it down, and shot him a smug look from beneath her thick, dark eyelashes, endlessly blue and nearly _glowing_ in the light.

Long forgotten, Chat’s melted, nearly untouched ice cream bar hit the ground with a wet _crack_.

Her look held for about three seconds before it seemed to occur to her _exactly_ what she was doing, and then smugness flipped right over into horrified panic.

Chat was too far gone to feel anything but numb fascination.

She choked again, flailing in broad gestures for a moment before puling the long, phallic object out of her throat and coughing violently, sputtering, “N-n-not that I know this! For any particular reason! My friend! Overshares a lot, ahaheha— Um!!”

How she got the information was a lot less interesting then the milky saliva smeared on the back of her hand, but it was a moot point — it wasn’t as if Chat was particularly coherent at the moment.

“I’ve— I’ve never considered _actually_ going down on— Well, I mean, I have, but not— I mean— I _mean_ —”

Chat put up a pleading, shaking hand, and Ladybug obligingly swallowed down the rest of her babble.

If he stayed here, he was going to _actually combust_.

“I… I need to… go,” was the first thing that came to mind that wasn’t a nonsensical string of swearwords or the plain old urge to just _scream_. He pointed in a vague direction that was Not Here. “Things. Do. I have—” He cleared his throat. “Things.”

Ladybug nodded like he’d quoted Einstein instead of half-confessing he was about to go home and jack off for, like, three hours straight.

“Yes, of course, Important— important things!” she said, a wild look in her eyes. “So! Patrol will end early today, you’re dismissed, I’m dismissed, we’re all dismissed, everyone have a nice day!”

“…Thanks,” said Chat, like a civilized being. It was a pretty good impression, if he did say so himself.

Then he turned, fumbled his staff off of his belt somehow, and launched himself onto the next roof, ignoring Ladybug’s strangled, guttural noise as he did so.

(He had to wait for a bit until the internal screaming and the boner had both died off enough for him to travel home, but he made it in the end.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i really really really want a tag for suggestively deepthroating an object in a specifically ust-driven situation
> 
> do we have that? ust-driven object deepthroating? i need it


	3. Chapter 3

It was only two and a half hours later when an akuma turned up.

Ladybug wanted to _die._

Chat couldn’t even _look_ at her, and she really couldn’t blame him. She’d like to get away from herself too.

 _What the hell had that been?_ she hadn’t stopped asking herself since patrol had ended. _Why the hell had she done that?!_

She’d made things awkward, _she knew she had_ , all because of her stupid pride… match… _thing._

What the hell did you even call deepthroating a popsicle _specifically_ for your friend whom you knew most definitely had a penis? She wasn’t going to dignify whatever she’d done by calling it a seduction. She just wasn’t.

(But, _oh,_ the look on his _face…_

She could, perhaps, be forgiven for going straight home and screaming into her pillow out of at least three different kinds of frustration.)

(Going on to rub a few out while imagining him there with ( _in_ ) her, on the other hand…)

(What a way to make things _supremely_ _awkward_ for herself. Four for you, Glen Coco. You _go,_ Glen Coco.)

“We should, ah, probably get up there,” she half mumbled, pointing to a little alcove that would give them a much better view of the surrounding area.

The alcove looked perfect, except for the one little problem of not having any suitable spires or decorations or outcroppings for her yo-yo to grab a hold of.

“Right,” said Chat, automatically reaching out to her so he could deliver her there, only to freeze with his palm hovering centimeters from her shoulder.

He still wasn’t looking at her.

Ladybug kind of wanted to cry.

(The worst part of this whole mess? It left her desperately, _desperately_ craving touch — Chat’s, specifically. Her body didn’t seem to care that it was still pushing forty degrees out here; the only thing it seemed to want was Chat’s hands _all over her_.)

Wanting it and hating herself for wanting it and swallowing guilt over the discomfort she may or may not have been causing him, Ladybug stepped into the curve of his arm and rested her palm on his hip.

He smelled _warm_ , like sweat and musk and dry heat and a hint of cologne, and she swallowed again, minutely, belly clenching in empty hunger. _Shit shit shit shit—_

The litany of swears dropped off into a small internal scream when he trailed hot, electric fingers down her arm, and then she had to stop herself from groaning as he wrapped them around her thigh to support her weight.

He pulled her close, and she looked up just in time to catch his Adam’s apple bobbing, which then bobbed much deeper as she pressed her curves against him.

_Shit._

She barely noticed it when he set the butt of his staff on the ground and levered them up to the alcove, too busy trying not to think about how much she’d like him to drag those fingers up _just a little bit_ — and dig them into her ass.

(The akuma had interrupted the last round of her… _self-care routine_ in just the right stage to leave her frustrated and needy and aching as _all get out_ , and right now there wasn’t a single inch of her that would object to being pinned against the back wall of the alcove and fucked silly.

…It was probably a good thing Chat was refusing to look at her right now. She _really_ didn’t want to know what she looked like at the moment.)

The alcove, unfortunately, brought them another problem.

From the ground, it looked like a perfectly reasonable space for two adult-sized people to stand side-by-side in relative peace and protection; upon closer inspection, however, a good three quarters of the ledge was a mixture of open beams and rusty aluminum plating.

There was only a very small space left to safely stand on.

Ladybug guiltily wished this suited her just a little bit less.

As it was, it left the deliciously firm line of Chat’s body pressed against her from behind, his hand steadying her hip, his breath ghosting over her sweat-damp nape…

It was all a horrible, teasing _hint_ of exactly what she wanted.

Chat let out a soft hiss that seemed to travel the entire length of her spine in glitter-bright tingles. “S-sorry about this.”

“About what?” Ladybug rasped, entirely distracted by what having his voice sound like _that_ so close to her ear was doing to her insides. _Good god,_ what did she need to do to keep him talking? Her hormones _really_ wanted to know.

He shifted a little, going to rearrange himself against the wall. “A-about—”

And then something long and hot and hard pressed into Ladybug’s hip, and Chat froze.

Ladybug also froze, though possibly not for the same reasons.

There was a long moment of silence, Ladybug’s pulse roaring in her mouth, her legs going weak, her attention snapped to everything between them and everything she’d _like_ between them, and then Chat let out a strangled sigh and dropped his head against the back wall.

“I am _so_ fucking sorry.”

The words were only _heard_ in the sense that her brain acknowledged them amidst the war-torn battleground that had become her psyche — it was impulse and hormones against control and higher reasoning, and the fight was _ugly._

“It’s okay,” said Ladybug faintly, resisting whipping around and grinding into him by the last threads of her self-control.

That self-control wasn’t _quite_ enough to keep her hips from chasing his as he tried to pull away, though, and she didn’t realize it until he panted a ragged noise against her throat.

“L-Ladybug?”

_Shit._

Hot and tingling _want_ from head to toe, she couldn’t physically bring herself to pull away. “S-s-sorry.”

His hand flexed, digging pinpricks into the sensitive junction between hip and thigh, and a rush of breath cooled the sweat on her neck. “…My fault.”

Ladybug was loath to agree, but she had a feeling that saying anything would lead to admitting that she’d been _dying_ to see his suit on her bedroom floor for far too long now, so she kept her mouth shut.

They breathed in sync for a moment, stuttering exhales as Chat dipped his nose to her shoulder and she stared out at the skyline, blinking through the heat haze for any sign of their quarry.

It was notably silent.

‘Silent,’ Ladybug found, was rather dangerous when all one had to think about was that they now had a much more accurate estimation of the size of their partner’s arousal than they had had previously, and that that information was more than likely going to be… _well-enjoyed_ once they had a little bit of alone time.

(It was a road she’d managed to avoid going down for four whole years now, but seeing all that skin seemed to have finally snapped something in her.

She hadn’t felt this _wound up_ since she was sixteen and Alya had dumped three magazines worth of photos of Adrien modeling swimwear on her.)

Chat readjusted his grip on her hip, claws scratching over the junction, and Ladybug’s hips just _jumped,_ a breathy little _“Ah!”_ leaving her throat as the _electricity_ of the touch lit her up painfully fast from the inside out.

She struggled to put breath back into her lungs, head swimming and summer heat flooding her mouth with every breath, her own trembling pants bringing her attention to Chat, and just how still he’d gone.

“…Right,” he said after a moment, so forcefully casual she could _feel_ the strain. “We can’t see the akuma from up here. We should keep moving.”

The words felt like a bucket of ice water — cooling, but not nearly enough to dampen the bonfire under her skin.

“…Right,” she finally agreed, every fiber of her _being_ protesting the thought of moving away from him. “Good idea.”

He chuckled, low and rolling and _mind-blowing_. “I do have those sometimes.”

She’d intended to agree, but the combination if his voice and the sliding friction of him moving and the _concept_ of him moving _away_ and _not touching her_ turned her hum into a tight, high, needy little, _“Mnn…”_

Chat stumbled, ears laying flat back on his head, and paused, claws flexing against the wall.

“…Okay,” he finally said, sounding like he was spitting the words with great difficulty. “I’m… going to assume you didn’t mean that to sound like… _that,_ and we’re going to go fight the akuma now.” He took a stiff breath. “And then we’re going to go home, and forget today ever existed. Sound good?”

More ice water, but somehow Ladybug managed to come up with a, “Uh-huh,” that was only a little bit breathless.

“Right!” Chat croaked, ears jerking even further back. “We-we’ll. We’ll go now. You can get down yourself, right? Right. I’ll just… I’ll go that way.”

Ladybug watched him leave, letting her eyes trail down the curve of his ass and the way his back flexed as he left, feeling light-headed and guilty and horny.

After much self-reflection _,_ she decided, sliding down the wall with the heel of her hand pressed against the ache between her legs, she still _really_ wanted to die.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> aka how many times can ladybug say 'fuck me' without actually _saying_ 'fuck me' before chat just dissolves


End file.
